All song and sentiment; whose hearts were set
Less on a convent than a coronet.
LXXXVI
There were four Honourable Misters, whose
Honour was more before their names than after;
There was the preux Chevalier de la Ruse,1043
Whom France and Fortune lately deigned to waft here,
Whose chiefly harmless talent was to amuse;
But the clubs found it rather serious laughter,
Because—such was his magic power to please—
The dice seemed charmed, too, with his repartees.
LXXXVII
There was Dick Dubious,1044 the metaphysician,
Who loved philosophy and a good dinner;
Angle, the soi-disant mathematician;
Sir Henry Silvercup, the great race-winner.
There was the Reverend Rodomont Precisian,
Who did not hate so much the sin as sinner:
And Lord Augustus Fitz-Plantagenet,
Good at all things, but better at a bet.
LXXXVIII
There was Jack Jargon, the gigantic guardsman;1045
And General Fireface,1046 famous in the field,
A great tactician, and no less a swordsman,
Who ate, last war, more Yankees than he killed.
There was the waggish Welsh Judge, Jefferies Hardsman,
In his grave office so completely skilled,
That when a culprit came for condemnation,
He had his Judge’s joke for consolation.1047
LXXXIX
Good company’s a chess-board—there are kings,
Queens, bishops, knights, rooks, pawns; the World’s a game;
Save that the puppets pull at their own strings,
Methinks gay Punch hath something of the same.
My Muse, the butterfly hath but her wings,
Not stings, and flits through ether without aim,
Alighting rarely:—were she but a hornet,
Perhaps there might be vices which would mourn it.
XC
I had forgotten—but must not forget—
An orator, the latest of the session,
Who had delivered well a very set
Smooth speech, his first and maidenly transgression
Upon debate: the papers echoed yet
With his début, which made a strong impression,
And ranked with what is every day displayed—
“The best first speech that ever yet was made.”
XCI
Proud of his “Hear hims!” proud, too, of his vote,
And lost virginity of oratory,
Proud of his learning (just enough to quote),
He revelled in his Ciceronian glory:
With memory excellent to get by rote,
With wit to hatch a pun or tell a story,
Graced with some merit, and with more effrontery,1048
“His country’s pride,” he came down to the country.
XCII
There also were two wits by acclamation,
Longbow from Ireland,1049 Strongbow from the Tweed—1050
Both lawyers and both men of education—
But Strongbow’s wit was of more polished breed;
Longbow was rich in an imagination
As beautiful and bounding as a steed,
But sometimes stumbling over a potato—
While Strongbow’s best things might have come from Cato.
XCIII
Strongbow was like a new-tuned harpsichord;
But Longbow wild as an Aeolian harp,
With which the Winds of heaven can claim accord,
And make a music, whether flat or sharp.
Of Strongbow’s talk you would not change a word:
At Longbow’s phrases you might sometimes carp:
Both wits—one born so, and the other bred—
This by his heart—his rival by his head.
XCIV
If all these seem an heterogeneous mass
To be assembled at a country seat,
Yet think, a specimen of every class
Is better than a humdrum tête-à-tête.
The days of Comedy are gone, alas!
When Congreve’s fool could vie with Molière’s bête:
Society is smoothed to that excess,
That manners hardly differ more than dress.
XCV
Our ridicules are kept in the back-ground—
Ridiculous enough, but also dull;
Professions, too, are no more to be found
Professional; and there is nought to cull1051
Of Folly’s fruit; for though your fools abound,
They’re barren, and not worth the pains to pull.
Society is now one polished horde,
Formed of two mighty tribes, the Bores and Bored.
XCVI
But from being farmers, we turn gleaners, gleaning
The scanty but right-well threshed ears of Truth;
And, gentle reader! when you gather meaning,
You may be Boaz, and I—modest Ruth.
Further I’d quote, but Scripture intervening
Forbids. A great impression in my youth
Was made by Mrs. Adams, where she cries,
“That Scriptures out of church are blasphemies.”1052
XCVII
But what we can we glean in this vile age1053
Of chaff, although our gleanings be not grist.
I must not quite omit the talking sage,
Kit-Cat, the famous Conversationist,1054
Who, in his common-place book, had a page
Prepared each morn for evenings. “List, oh list!”
“Alas, poor ghost!”1055—What unexpected woes
Await those who have studied their bons-mots!
XCVIII
Firstly, they must allure the conversation,
By many windings to their clever clinch;
And secondly, must let slip no occasion,
Nor bate (abate) their hearers of an inch,1056
But take an ell—and make a great sensation,
If possible; and thirdly, never flinch
When some smart talker puts them to the test,
But seize the last word, which no doubt’s the best.
XCIX
Lord Henry and his lady were the hosts;
The party we have touched on were the guests.
Their table was a board to tempt even ghosts
To pass the Styx for more substantial feasts.
I will not dwell upon ragoûts or roasts,
Albeit all human history attests
That happiness for Man—the hungry sinner!—
Since Eve ate apples, much depends on dinner.
C
Witness the lands which “flowed with milk and honey,”
Held out unto the hungry Israelites:
To this we have added since, the love of money,
The only sort of pleasure which requites.
Youth fades, and leaves our days no longer sunny;
We tire of mistresses and parasites;
But oh, ambrosial cash! Ah! who would lose thee?
When we no more can use, or even abuse thee!
CI
The gentlemen got up betimes to shoot,
Or hunt: the young, because they liked the sport—
The first thing boys like after play and fruit;
The middle-aged, to make the day more short;
For ennui1057 is a growth of English root,
Though nameless in our language:—we retort
The fact for words, and let the French translate
That awful yawn which sleep can not abate.
CII
The elderly walked through the library,
